


Just a Dead Man

by bleuvelvet



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Oops, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Content, Unreliable Narrator, because Spike is his own worst enemy, for reals, gets kinda sappy at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29837397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleuvelvet/pseuds/bleuvelvet
Summary: Spike knows he's just a stop-gap for other people.  They come, he loves them, they go.  Never has anyone stayed for him.  Not when he showed them who he really is underneath all the bleach and bad attitude.  Xander Harris is no different.Until he is.
Relationships: Xander Harris/Spike
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	Just a Dead Man

**Author's Note:**

> Dafuq did I just do? I swear it's like I black out and fic comes pouring out into ANOTHER fandom I don't need to be involved in. Originally, I just wanted to write some PWP with Spike and Xander, but somehow exposition got in there and now it's PWP with a little bit of character study? Sorry?
> 
> Also, one can say this takes place at some nebulous point after BtVS and AtS ends and Los Angeles gets regurgitated back from the hell dimension it became... ish.
> 
> Title taken from Youngblood by 5SOS.

It starts like this:

“I know what you want, Spike.” Xander murmurs against pale skin, one hand sliding down over a bare hip. “What you need. And I know how to give it to you.” He licks at a nipple and smirks at the gasp he receives.

Well, actually, it starts a little before this, when Xander tells Spike that he knows him, and he loves him, and Spike bluntly tells Xander that he fucking well does not. How could he? Spike doesn’t even know who he is anymore.

His life ended in late 19th century England and his body just never caught up to that fact. A century-and-a-quarter later, he still doesn’t know how to die. Let go. Give up. Except in love. Spike is very good at giving up his love to other people. Especially to those who don’t want him back. Not the real him, anyway.

First had been Cecily, when he’d still been William. William Pratt, that is. An effete, poncey little bugger that had nothing but a low-ranking tradesman job and a sick, adoring mother. No wonder Cecily had been disgusted by him. If he'd been more self-aware at the time, he'd have been disgusted, too.

He’d lost both of those things when Dru had found him in that little stable, unsuccessfully trying to repress his tears of humiliation and heartbreak.

And Dru… God, Dru had been a miracle. She’d brought him into the light, so to speak. She had helped rid him of his meekness and he'd _thrived_ with her. With Drusilla at his side, he’d become William the Bloody, and he wasn’t known because of his awful attempts at verse anymore.

Drusilla had seen a light in him that no one else had before and he’d done his best to make himself worthy of her. He had murdered men, women, and children indiscriminately. Did things he could have never imagined when he was alive and reveled in the savagery of it. He let Angelus have her when she wanted him. Killed a slayer so she'd look to him instead of her sire. Took care of her when Darla and Angelus both buggered off to god-knows-where. Went after another slayer, because why not and he’d always liked a good dance. It would make Dru proud, he'd thought at the time.

All because she saw him. Because she said she wanted him. Even if the him she wanted wasn’t real. Just a construct. Not a real vampire; not where it counted.

Something changed in him when he went after his third slayer. Or, perhaps it is more accurate to say that he'd stopped pretending, just for a moment. He’s never been able to pin down exactly what it was that had tipped Dru off, only that something must have for Dru to have sensed it. She left him. He howled in rage for days. He’d thought their love eternal. He found a liquor store and drank and drank and drank until its owner returned and he drank from a very different vessel, gathered a few bottles for the road, and headed back to Sunnydale, where the mess his unlife had become had started.

Only, instead of getting his Dru back, or revenge on the Slayer, he’d seen his ass soundly kicked. The less said about that venture, the better.

He kept getting kicked. First the Slayer, then Angelus, then the Slayer again. And then, for some variety, he gets bagged and tagged by some American paramilitary group that as far as he can tell are bent on continuing what the Germans started back in the 1930s. He doesn’t ever say that out loud, though. First, because he doesn’t think they (Buffy and Captain Cornfield) would take too kindly to the comparison and second because he doesn’t want to share the information that this isn’t the first time he’s been captured and experimented on. It’s a little embarrassing. 

(There's a third reason, buried deep down under his dead heart, that has to do with nightmares that hadn't ever really gone away and recently spent time reliving them while awake. But he doesn't think about that. He can't.)

Somewhere along the way, he developed a horrifying attachment to the Slayer. He can understand why; he has a type, he can admit, for those that can put him in his place. Spike has always held a fascination with those stronger than himself and a need to prove himself just as capable. Worthy of recognition.

Buffy hit all the right marks in all the wrong ways. She’s stronger than him; a challenge. Something to break himself against. Someone to remind his dead flesh just how long past his expiry date that he is. And Spike did what he had always done in these types of situations and twisted to conform himself to an impossible standard. Soul-acquiring vampires with large foreheads were a rather rare breed in those days after all.

She saw right through him. Didn’t let him get close. Not until he proved he to be trustworthy. And even then, all keeping Dawn safe had garnered him was a kiss and fewer cutting remarks about his person. He basked in it, shamefully aware of his weakness but being unable to help himself. She'd given him a reason to feel alive. She resisted him at every turn and then she died and left him to deal with the aftermath.

Not only did he have to deal with his own grief, he had to carry the burden of every single one of the Scoobies’ and Dawn’s broken spirits to boot. They would never admit it, but he did. He dragged every single one of them through the next few months, organizing patrols with Rupert, giving advice on which wood works best for carving stakes to Xander, procuring fresh ingredients for Willow’s spells. He did all that and babysat Dawn as well. Because he promised Buffy he would take care of the Little Bit. He dragged himself through every day with the fierce tenacity for life that had gotten him through Angelus' cruelty, two Slayers, and a hundred years with Dru. His body just didn't know when to quit.

They brought her back. He was furious at them, but also so fiercely glad to see her that he couldn’t be sorry that they did. Even if he’d had his suspicions about where they had pulled her from. Even after Buffy confirmed them to him in a private, desperate moment.

She kissed him. _She_ kissed _him_.

For a little while, after that, he has everything he ever wanted. Well, no, that wasn’t true. But he tells himself that he did and that makes it just as good as. Until it doesn't anymore, and he pushed for more. Something needed to break, him or her, he didn’t care. He just wanted it to be over.

(That was a lie. He does care. He wants it to be him. It should be him. She shouldn’t have to suffer for his clinging, dirty little feelings.)

After, he found himself in Africa. To be precise, he was somewhere in Namibia seeking the demon shaman. He grasped and clawed his way through the Demon Trials, drawing on the determination to prove himself that had always seen him through before, his body still struggling for life like a drowning man gasps for air and finds only heavy liquid instead.

He won. He gets his wish granted. He hates it. He regrets it.

The demon gave him back his _soul_. He’s not sure what he had expected when he’d asked the shaman to make him what he once was- to make him what Buffy deserved- but a soul hadn't been it.

It hurt. It burned and froze him in turns. It weighed him down. He tried to claw it out, but it wouldn’t go away. It forced him to relive his worst moments over and over again, playing them in perfect recollection. He was broken. Neither Angelus, Dru, Buffy, nor Glory had broken him. But having his soul shoved back in and wearing him like an ill-fitting suit had done it. It itched. Pulled his skin tight and left him feeling stretched thin.

Buffy was the one to find him. Of course, she had been. She has a radar for when he’s down in his lowest depths. It must have been pinging like mad for days. He hadn't wanted her to see him, but she did anyway. Found him out. Exposed his most secret parts to her friends and then forced him to stay with the boy.

They started fucking. Him and the boy. Not Buffy. She wouldn't have him back. Too broken, he was. Spike might be a bitch when it comes to love, but he’s not stupid. Buffy is another love that he must let go of, he knew, but he was finding it rather difficult to do so.

But, he wasn't too broken for the boy.

And the boy… Well, Xander is more a man now. He’d lost the roundness of boyhood, but he still seemed impossibly young to Spike, which made him feel a little bit like a lecher. He wondered why he cared, and then remembered that he has a soul now, useless thing that it is. Gave him ideas about things like morals and responsibility. Things he didn't have with Buffy.

They still hate each other, though, and Spike took comfort in the fact that they’re both fully aware that they’re using the other. 

Xander, because he fucked up the one half-decent relationship he’d ever had and couldn't deal. And wasn’t that sad? Even Spike had known those two wouldn’t last and he was the poster boy for unhealthy relationship dynamics. And Spike because he needed the distraction from Buffy.

Maybe they weren't so different from each other after all.

Nothing could go wrong, he’d thought. They both had known the score when they’d started. There was no chance of feelings developing. They rarely even kissed, not to mention cuddled or anything as sweet as that. As soon as Spike could feel his legs again, he was out of Xander’s bed and back into his own. 

And they both got a good seeing to. Sometimes multiple times a day. Spike hadn’t had such a good tupping since Angelus had taken a brief, but fervent, interest not long after Spike's turning. It was a good arrangement between two people that hated each other, but also had similar loose morals on the topic of buggering.

He should have known better.

*

It ends. It had to. He died. Can’t continue an illicit homoerotic affair when one of the affair partners kicks it. Or, er, well he supposes you could, technically, but that’s either really gross- depending on how dead the one partner stays and how loose the other’s morals are- or a rather specific situation that they would not be talking about.

Suffice to say, he died. Totally and completely dusted. And then he came back, swirling into existence in Angel’s fancy lawyer office, burning in reverse.

He begged Angel not to tell Buffy. He told the other vampire it was because he wanted to stay a hero in her eyes. He knew his grand-sire would eat it up. Peaches had always been a sucker for broody, self-sacrificing heroes, even before he’d gotten the soul stuffed back into him.

The real reason he didn’t want Angel to tell Buffy he's back was because he knew if she found out, then _he’d_ find out. Xander. Whom he suspected became attached to him some time during their months-long affair. The boy- man- could do so much better than him. Spike knows this.

Honestly, he was surprised when he realized it. Of the two of them, Spike had suspected it would be himself that would develop feelings for the other. He’d never been very good at separating his heart from sex. But, when Xander had taken him aside and given him one last sweet kiss, whispering ‘thank you’ to him, he’d known. Xander had never been so gentle with him before.

It frightened him. It frightened him because in the wake of that small, quiet moment he hadn’t wanted to leave. He wanted more time to be with him. He wanted to stay with Xander. And maybe it wasn’t Xander after all, who had gotten attached. Maybe it had just been Spike projecting his feelings all along and he didn’t want to find out that Xander had regarded him as little more than a fuck-buddy that had grown on him. Just a little. Like fungus. Or a cat.

So, he spared himself the pain and asked Angelus not to tell anyone.

The plan was going splendidly until Andrew visited them.

Xander’s in Africa. It felt like some sort of odd serendipity that the man he’d developed feelings for is now on the continent where Spike had regained the ability for human emotion. Andrew's visit dredged up memories of that last year in Buffy and company's...company. He hadn't thought of the man in almost a year.

(Lie again. He's thought about that last kiss dozens of times. Maybe more.)

He extracted the same promise from Andrew that he had from Angel. Don’t tell Buffy. By the way Andrew eyed him, a little too knowing for Spike’s liking, he had an idea of who Spike really didn’t want to know, but the little man agreed easily enough.

Xander slammed back into his life some time after seeing Andrew for the second time- after Rome, the battle against the Senior Partners, and returning from a hell dimension.

It was almost literal, the slamming. The door to the office Spike is in- during a meeting with Giles, Angel, and a few others- banged open, revealing a tall young man with tousled brown hair and a patch over one eye.

The man’s working eye studied the room before settling on Spike and narrowing. “Fuck, Andrew wasn’t lying,” he spat, before stalking across the room, faster than Spike remembered him being, and socking him across the jaw.

It was a good hit. Pain blossomed at the point of contact. And then, before Spike can do more than stumble back a step, gingerly touching the area, Xander grasped the front of his t-shirt and hauled him into a deep kiss.

Everything froze. In what seemed to be an unspoken collective agreement, no one dared to make a sound. Spike’s wide blue eyes stared into deep brown, surprise evident in his every tense muscle as a warm mouth pressed and held against his own cool one.

The kiss went on for a long moment before Xander pulled away. His gaze never left Spike’s face; his fist was still curled into Spike’s shirt. “You done here?”

“Yeah,” Spike replied absently. He licked at the faint warmth that lingered on his bottom lip and watched as Xander’s eye followed the movement.

“Good.” Xander dragged him from the office. “Where’s your room?” There was a sort of desperation to his voice.

Spike pointed. “Through there.” He’d been given accommodations on the first floor. It had a south-facing window just big enough for a man to squeeze through, easily covered by heavy curtains when needed. The room also had a double bed and a nightstand with a single lamp on it for illumination.

He let Xander into his room and then was summarily pushed up against the door and thoroughly, expertly, ravaged. Eventually, they made it to the bed.

Xander had just come back from another assignment abroad, still finding potential Slayers in underdeveloped regions of the world when Andrew had accidentally spilled the beans about Spike's rather not dead status. He’d grown lean, hard. Someone had taught him to fight somewhere along the way. He put what he’d learned to good use, throwing Spike onto the bed, and using judo holds to keep the vampire pinned. Spike hadn't wanted to escape his grasp anyway. It had been long time since anyone had wanted Spike like that. Like he mattered.

Their coupling was desperate and frantic. A meeting of rough-edged bodies covered in smooth skin, their jagged pieces cutting into each other to fit. After, for the first time, Xander held him close. Asking if he could stay without using words. Spike didn't say anything either, just held on a little tighter.

They continued on that way for some time. Xander was sent out to remote locations on rumors of an extraordinarily strong girl. Sometimes, Spike went with him. Other times, Spike was needed elsewhere. They always came back to that room, though. Usually together, but sometimes they missed each other and there'd be little tell-tale signs that the other had been there.

And patiently, Spike waited. He waited for Xander to tire of him. To move on. Because nobody ever stayed with Spike. Not really. Not when they had better options. And Spike has never been the better option. He wasn't the forever other people looked for. Perhaps because he really was forever, as long as he wasn't dusted.

Xander had plenty of better offers, Spike knew. Some of the potentials he’d saved were near enough in age to the man to be seen as romantic interests. Many of the Slayers looked up to the human man with no special powers that had fought alongside Buffy at the Hellmouth and then had gone into war-torn regions and pulled young girls out of dire situations.

He was a hero. A bonafide, one-of-a-kind, human hero. His flesh was warm and alive with virility. What could the man want with a sad excuse of an ensouled vampire? Why would he want to feel Spike’s cold flesh against him when he could have a warm body to hold instead?

Every so often, Spike would get the idea that Xander was being too kind, and that Spike needed to be the one to break things off with the other man. But Spike was selfish and weak. He couldn’t let go of the little bit of warmth he’d managed to garner for himself. So, he clung even as he encouraged Xander to spend more time with the Slayers that showed the young man interest. 

It would be the height of stupidity to usher in his own pain before he had to, but he knew it was only a matter of time. Spike was a great many things, but a fool wasn’t one of them. Not when it came to love. The wait for Xander to come to his senses was painful, but he'd endure. He had to.

*

It starts with a statement.

“I love you.”

Spike stares at him. “No, you fucking well do not.”

Xander sighs and rolls his eye. “Seriously? That’s your response to someone telling you that they love you?” He sounds more amused than exasperated. “I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

“You don’t know me,” Spike replies hollowly. This was not the sort of conversation he’d ever imagined having with Xander Harris.

“Don’t know you?” Xander echoes, disbelieving. “We’ve been living together for almost two years now. And we’ve known each other for almost a decade before that. We lived together off and on during that time as well. I’ve seen you evil, good, tortured and everything in between. What do you mean I 'don’t know you’?”

It can’t have been that long, Spike thinks dully. Surely, he would have noticed Harris aging. But, well, he had been trying to his damnedest not to look too closely at their relationship, which included studying the other man. He looks now. 

There are fine lines in the corners of Xander’s eyes. At his mouth. His shoulders are broad though, arms thick with muscle. The rest of his frame is the same way. Strong. But he doesn’t look _old_ yet. Just a little worn. It dawns on him that Xander must be around thirty or so now. No longer a boy. Well into adulthood, by human terms.

When had this happened?

As Spike continues to stare into the distance, Xander edges closer, placing a hand on the vampire’s shoulder. “Spike,” he says softly. “What’s wrong?”

“You don’t _know me_ ,” he repeats harshly. The dam breaks. “ _No one_ knows me. All they see is who they want to see. _What_ they want to see.” He shrugs off Harris’ comforting hand and steps back, away from the other man.

Xander’s eye narrows at him, no longer amused. “Explain.”

Spike grasps for words. He’s so distraught at this turn of events, at the thought of having to say his insecurities out loud, he’s near to breathing from it.

“Spike.”

Knowing he can’t keep silent any longer, Spike slumps down onto the bed. Their bed. The one they’d been sharing for the past two years. The bed they had just gotten up from after a particularly enthusiastic round of sex. Spike had just finished buttoning his jeans when Xander had said those three words to him.

“I’m unlovable,” he admits, sending the words out into the room on silent wings. He gets a harsh bark of laughter in return and cringes. 

“What?” Xander’s tone is rough; bemused.

“Un-love-able,” he enunciates. “As a human, as a vampire, as a vampire with a human soul. No one has ever loved me for _me_.”

“Well, that’s not true,” Xander states matter-of-factly. “I love you.”

Spike lets out an inelegant snort. “No, you love what I do for you.”

There’s a rustle of fabric as Xander crosses his arms over his chest. The shirt strains across the breadth of his shoulders. Spike distantly thinks he might have put on one of his by mistake. They’re near enough in size, but Harris has always been a little broader, a little heavier. “Alright. I’ll bite. What is it you do for me?” The amusement appears to be creeping back.

This isn’t how Spike imagined it would end between them. He’d figured that Xander would realize that he was wasting his time with Spike on his own. He pictured the man letting him down gently, or at least, trying to. Xander hadn’t gotten much better with words over the years. He'd gotten little more self-confident and learned how to overcome his impulse for stream-of-consciousness word vomit. Unfortunately, his word choices and turns of phrase still left something to be desired.

For a moment, Spike flounders. Why did the other man stay around? Enjoyment of his company? Mentally, Spike scoffs. No one enjoyed the company of snarky, embittered individuals. Less so when they drank blood to live.

Sex? Perhaps, but Spike had seen Xander turn down plenty of offers over the last couple of years. It had always baffled him as to why. They’d never discussed any sort of mutual monogamy. Spike hadn’t strayed from their bed, but that had more to do with his own misguided feelings than anything Xander had implied wanting.

Protection? Again, maybe. He’s certainly stronger than the human, but Xander has learned to fight well over the years. He didn’t need Spike for that anymore. And again, he had other potential partners that could probably kick Spike’s ass once they were trained up enough.

At a loss, Spike shrugs.

Xander sighs. Spike feels the bed dip as the man comes to sit next to him, close enough that Spike can feel the heat radiating off him. “That’s what I thought.” Now, Xander definitely sounds amused.

Spike looks up at him sharply, hurt. “Then you tell me why you’ve stuck around.” He hadn’t thought the other man would be this cruel. Not after they’d finally become friends. At least, he’d thought they were friends. “From where I’m sitting, there’s no advantage to being with me.”

“You’re right. You’re the most inconvenient being I’ve ever dated.” Spike gaped at him. Well, that had stung a bit. Also, they were dating? “You complain almost constantly. About everything. You complain about being cold, but never do anything about it.”

“They can bloody well afford to turn up the heat,” Spike mutters.

Xander continues over him. “You complain when we’re low on human blood and you have to drink pig or otter to supplement.”

“Trying to starve me, they are-”

“You whine when the girls are watching a makeover show and you want to watch the football game.”

“Manchester United was playing!”

“You make me get in bed first to warm it up for you- though you never admit that's why- and then stick your lumps of ice that you call feet under my calves.”

“I get cold,” Spike defends himself, sullenly. 

“Every night! And I let you do it! You're a vampire. You're not supposed to get cold.”

“Is there a point to all of this or are we just listing out all of the reasons why I’m a tosser for funsies?”

Xander turns to face him properly. “You’re selfish, arrogant, sarcastic, blunt, messy. An insane pathological liar. And I love every single one of those things about you.”

Spike gapes at him. He is well aware that he is doing his best impression of a goldfish, but he couldn’t seem to help it. Harris had thrown him for a loop. “You think I’m all of those things and you still _like me_?”

“Love you, even.” A warm hand settles on Spike’s arm.

He shakes his head at the other man. “You’re mad, mate. Absolutely barking.”

Xander grins at him. “For you? Agreed.”

Spike cringes. “That was bad, even for you.”

The other man nods happily. “Yup.” He takes Spike’s hand in his. “You're also loyal, and brave, and a self-sacrificing moron. You care, more than you'll ever let on, about Dawn, and Buffy, and what we're doing here with the Slayers. You put your whole self into whatever you set out to accomplish and damn anyone that gets in your way." He chuckles. "Yourself included, to my great and continued consternation."

Spike looks away. No one has ever spoken that way about him before. He doesn't deserve it.

Xander tucks a finger under Spike's chin. "So, are you going to let me love you now?”

He hesitates, trying to process of all the things Xander has said about him. “Are you sure?” When Xander’s eye narrows and it looks like he’s about to unleash another torrent of declarations, Spike hastens to add, “it’s just...I’ve always played a part. How do you know you like the real me?”

Harris squeezes his hand gently. “I know.” He rubs his thumb over Spike’s knuckles. “I’ve realized over the last few years how much of what we saw of you back in Sunnydale was a front. Something you were molded into being. I started having an inkling of it back before the Hellmouth blew up, but by then it had been too late. You were gone." He frowned, pain radiating from every tense line of his body. "When I heard you were alive again, I was determined not to waste the second chance I'd been given."

Spike shudders at the recognition. He leans toward Harris, pressing his forehead into a strong shoulder. “How? How do you know who I really am?”

Xander is silent for a long moment. Then, he cups his hand over the back of Spike’s neck. “Let me show you.”

*

It continues like this:

Harris pushes him gently back down onto the bed and strips off his jeans. Then he divests himself of his own clothes and climbs back onto the mattress, over Spike. He kisses him softly, then trails his mouth over Spike’s jaw and down his neck.

“I know,” he says between kisses, “how you like to be taken best. You know… when we have all day for it?”

Spike trembles. He knows what Xander means. It’s rare that they have a full day off together, but when they do… It’s near pure fucking magic. Pun intended.

Xander is still speaking. “When we first started fucking, you had this wall around you. An aura that said 'I don't care about anything, as long as I get mine'." He nibbles gently at the sharp point of Spike's collarbone. "But that wasn't really true. You like to be taken care of." Spike sucks in a sharp breath. "Shh," Xander gentles him. "I know how you like to be teased until you’re begging, the first time. You love it when I lick your nipples, drag my hands over your ribs,” he works his way down Spike’s body. “Suck on the ridge of your hip bone.” He puts words to practice, hot breath dragging wetly over cool skin.

Spike moans. The discovery of that particular spot had been a surprise to them both. Spike had never had a lover so interested in learning his body. He’d let it slip, one day, years ago- before the Hellmouth of Sunnydale had collapsed- that he’d never had anyone take their time with him before. Xander seemed to have taken that offhand statement as a challenge.

Spike has never had such attention paid to what he likes when it came to sex, before Xander or after. Several years later, after an early-aborted meeting, Xander had proven that he hadn’t forgotten. 

And here he is again, working Spike over slowly, thoroughly, just the way Spike likes it best. He kisses and caresses as much of the vampire’s pale flesh as he can reach until Spike is so hard and wanting that he thinks he could scream with it.

Then, and only then, does Harris put his fingers in him. He’s still slick from earlier that morning, only an hour ago, so it’s an easy slide. Xander finds his prostate with the ease of long practice and then deliberately ignores it.

Spike groans with frustration. “Please,” he begs.

Xander smirks. “There it is.” He continues working his fingers, in and out. “I know what you want, Spike.” Xander murmurs against the pale skin, one hand sliding down over a bare hip. “What you need. And I know how to give it to you.” He licks at a nipple. Spike gasps.

He moans and quakes and only once he’s begged a few times more for Xander to fuck him does the other man withdraw his fingers and line himself up, but he stops there.

“C’mon,” Spike grumbles, wrapping his legs around Xander’s hips and tries to pull the other man into him.

He gets a grin in response. “And I know how you like to be fucked after all the teasing.” He leans down and presses in a bit. “Hard and fast, so you can really feel it.” He pushes harder, sheathing himself in one smooth, quick motion. “So, you can feel me stretching you. Just a little bit of a burn that borders on pain.” He doesn’t hesitate, just pulls back and fucks into Spike, steady and sure.

This time, he angles himself to where Spike needs it most, and almost before Spike realizes it, he’s coming. He'd been on the precipice of it for what felt like hours. Xander freezes above him, riding out the clenching of muscles that threaten to take him over as well.

Once Spike is done shuddering, he lowers himself down onto his elbows, gently resting his weight on the vampire beneath him. “After that,” he murmurs into Spike’s ear. “You like it when I drape myself over you and fuck into your pliant, oversensitive body. Just little thrusts. Like this.” He demonstrates, rocking back and forth gently, barely moving inside the other man.

Spike has his hands on Xander’s shoulders, gripping tightly. The small motions are rubbing his sensitive prick as well as his insides. Xander is like a low-burning ember inside him. Just enough heat to keep warm, with a promise for more, if he just keeps at it long enough.

Slowly, Xander works the vampire into hardness again. Once Spike is moaning, his pace gradually starts to quicken until he’s thrusting in earnest, watching Spike’s face as the other man is lost to his pleasure.

This time, orgasm is a surprise. It felt like, at one moment, it had been so far away as to be impossible to reach and then the next, Spike is grasping and groaning, hands scrabbling at the shoulders of the man above him, and he can feel Xander twitch inside him as well, flooding him with a dull warmth.

Xander collapses on top of him, gasping. He lays there for a time, unconcerned, knowing that Spike can bear his weight until he recovers enough to move.

When he finally does extract himself from Spike, he doesn’t go far. He turns the vampire onto his side and curls up behind him.

“Next,” he murmurs into pale blond curly hair, “we lay together for a little bit. Recover for the third time. And there will be a third time,” he promises. He runs his hand over the defined muscles of Spike’s abdomen, over his hip, and as far down his thigh as he can go before bringing his hand back up and gently prods between Spike’s cheeks.

“This is also when I molest you under the guise of checking to make sure I haven’t hurt you.” He kisses the nape in front of him. “I know, it’s not molesting if you’re willing.”

“Damn right I’m willing,” Spike mutters sleepily. He shifts, drawing his top leg up to give Xander better access, the action born of long practice. “Also, you didn’t hurt me. You never do.” There’s a bit of reproach to the statement. A hint of an argument that was had long ago that despite Spike’s assurance that he doesn’t mind a bit of pain, likes it even, Xander will never go further with that than what he has done now; a firm, fast fuck on just-above-minimal prep. Spike loves him and hates him for it.

Carefully, Xander runs his fingers over the pale, swollen flesh of Spike’s entrance. It’s pink, and a little puffy, and Xander knows in an hour he’ll hardly be able to tell he was there at all.

They doze for a little while. Eventually, Xander wakes up enough to realize that Spike has been subtly rubbing up against him for the last few minutes. He shifts up onto an elbow and presses a kiss to the vampire’s ear. “Ready for round three?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he takes one of Spike’s cheeks in hand, exposing his hole to Xander’s carefully considering eye. He was right, the swelling has gone down and the only real evidence that he’d been there recently was the trickle of come that had left Spike’s body to smear on his ass cheeks and thighs.

“Is it round three?” Spike gasps, not really interested in the answer. He’s more focused on what Xander’s fingers are doing to his nipples and the interesting hardness that has begun poking into the small of his back.

“Well, it’s more like round four for you.” Xander answers distractedly. “However, in the context of our earlier conversation, this is three.”

The reminder of how this had all started captures back Spike’s interest. “Oh?

“Mhm.” Carefully, Xander presses against the opening to Spike’s body. “This is the best one.” Slowly, he glides in.

“It is?” Spike bites his bottom lip against a groan.

Xander moves in long, slow thrusts. “Yup.”

“How so?”

“Because now that all the frantic need to copulate like lemmings is over, there’s just us.” He kisses Spike’s ear,again, then along the back of shoulders. His movement in Spike’s body never changes pace, steady like a metronome. He runs his hands over every piece of pale skin he can reach. After several minutes, he reaches down to Spike’s pale erection and encloses it in a loose fist. He pumps it a few times, to Spike’s great and vocal approval, then lets go.

“Wait, no! What?” Spike looks up at him, a hint of betrayal coloring his features as Xander withdraws from his body before gently guiding him onto his back. 

“I want to see you.” He positions himself back between Spike’s thighs. “This is when I get to make love to you,” he says, bracing himself on hands and knees above the other’s body. 

To his horror, Spike feels a wave of embarrassment flood over him. He turns his head to the side, even though he knows he can’t have a physical response to Xander’s declaration. Still, he feels the need to hide himself from Harris’ frank gaze.

“Ah, no. No hiding.” Calloused fingers take hold of his chin and guide his face back around. “Look at me.”

Spike considers refusing, but really, after all they’ve done, there really isn’t any point to it. He opens his eyes.

Xander’s gaze carries open approval at what he sees. “That’s better,” he smiles, before gently entering Spike’s body once more. This time, it’s not particularly slow or fast. It’s comfortable. A steady crescendo built between the two of them and unique all the same for it. Hands wander over skin, thighs tighten around hips, and breath comes out in pants. Still, Xander’s gaze never leaves Spike’s face.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, fingers tracing over a ruined eyebrow and down over prominent cheekbones. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

And that’s when Spike gets it. Really gets it. Xander does know him. He knows that Spike is broken and jagged and rough. He knows that all Spike has ever really yearned for is a love to call his own and be comfortable in. That’s what Xander is offering Spike here. Love. Unconditional, freeing, falling, terrifying love from someone that knows him.

Because Xander is broken, too. He's seen more horror in the world than a man his age should. He's been privy to a world that most will never truly know. It's left him just as sharp-edged as Spike is. Somehow, they fit.

Xander loves him. Just as he is. Because Xander knows what it is to yearn for something that feels so far out of reach as to be impossible obtain. Except, it isn't. Not here, when it's just the two of them. It's everything Spike has ever wanted. And Xander wants give it to him. Wants to love Spike and have Spike's love in return.

Spike threads his hands up around the back of Xander’s shoulders and tugs him down until the other man is leaning over him on his elbows, blanketing him. He buries his face into the crook of Xander’s neck. “Oh God,” he pleads wetly. “Please, please, please…”

“Shhh,” Xander comforts him. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.” He shifts his weight to one side and trails the back of his fingers down through the hair under Spike’s navel before wrapping his hand around the vampire’s need. “Okay, Spike. Whenever you’re ready.” He places a kiss on Spike’s cheek.

That, more than the hand on his prick, is what sends him over. The gentleness, the _love_ , in the gesture means more to him than a thousand spoken declarations of the same from past bedmates. His fingers dig into the shoulders above him and he keens his release.

A few thrusts later, Xander follows him over.

They lay together, panting. Well, Xander pants. Spike runs his fingers over a sweat-dampened back and wonders how he’s gotten so lucky.

Minutes, or maybe hours later, Xander regains enough feeling in his limbs to push himself off and out of Spike, who whines at the loss, but settles down comfortably enough when Xander wraps his arms back around him. They lay silent for some time, Xander stroking his fingers over a smooth shoulder and Spike listening to the human’s heartbeat, both lost in their own thoughts.

“And you’re absolutely sure?” Spike can’t help asking.

Raising his head slightly, and with great effort, Xander glares down at the bleached head on his chest. He pokes a finger at a pale cheek. “I’m sure. Do you need me to prove it to you again?”

“Well,” Spike props his head on his hand and pretends to consider the proposal. “I wouldn’t mind another go.” He grins at the groan he receives.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Xander mutters from behind the hand he’s thrown over his face.

Spike pushes up a little further and plants a kiss on Xander’s mouth, just visible from under his hand. Xander returns the kiss, moving his hand to cradle the back of Spike’s head, fingers twining into the silk of stark blond hair. “Nah, mate,” Spike says after breaking the kiss. “I’m going to be the life of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please consider leaving comments or kudos if you enjoyed this work!


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